


You can't save the damsel if she loves her distress

by LightofEvolution



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14135361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightofEvolution/pseuds/LightofEvolution
Summary: One should think an exploding wand is quite usual in Hogwarts. Though, it isn't when Ron Weasley is the one who plays a prank on Hermione Granger. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, desperately wants to save the damsel in distress. Fire, explosions, sparks - all wrapped up in a one-shot.





	You can't save the damsel if she loves her distress

**Author's Note:**

> This little story was inspired by two drawings of a very talented artist I stumbled upon on tumblr. Basically, I connected them with a plot I made up. The artist's name is d-june-y, and she was so kind and gave me the permission to use and post her art for this. Check her work out, it will make you laugh and smile, and please don't use the art without the artist's okay. THANK YOU, d-june-y!  
> Another big thank you goes to my beta, MrBenzedrine89, who encourages me every time, even when I'm super-whiny.

**_Hermione’s POV_ **

 

It was a wonderful, sunny afternoon and the last day of March (even outright warm for Scottish conditions). After a long period of darkness, the students of Hogwarts stormed outside to enjoy the weather. 

 

Surprisingly, the Headmistress had decided to move today’s tutoring program outside.The program allowed younger students to be tutored by seventh or eighth years, who, in turn, were supervised by one or two professors each afternoon. 

 

That was why Hermione Granger,  _ the _ Head Girl, carefully instructed a group of first year students to swish and flick their wands correctly. She really enjoyed this teaching experience. The children loved her, not only because she was portrayed as war hero and one third of the Golden Trio, but also because Hermione listened to their fears and struggles. Maybe she would return to the castle in a few years with a university degree and a bit more experience under her belt and take up a position as a professor? To have those young faces looking up at her in studious curiosity was  _ so _ rewarding.

 

After a friendly smile to the Headmistress as she passed by her group, Hermione explained again, “The pronunciation is essential for Levitation. It’s Win _ gar _ dium Levi _ o _ -” 

 

_ BAMM!  _

 

Her words were interrupted by an explosion. Startled, Hermione looked down and saw it was the wand in her hand that had exploded. She felt her curls smoking slightly and hastily patted the mass of hair to snuff the sparks out. Then she unbelievingly stared at the piece of wood between her fingers. Thank Merlin this wasn’t hers. Inspecting the thing closer, the woman spotted three small letters at the base of it when the smoke cleared:  _ WWW _ . 

 

Surprise turned to anger. Anger turned to white rage.

 

“I think Miss Hermione here needs another feather-” 

 

Before the girl next to her could finish the sentence and alert Hermione’s beloved Headmistress of the...unfortunate mishap, the Head Girl called, “ _ Draco _ !” 

 

The man in question turned around from where he had been assisting a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw boy with their Forgetfulness potion. The relationship with him had been a pleasant surprise - if you considered it had only taken two weeks of screaming, hexing, and crying for them to start anew. To be honest, their interactions were more...well, you will see. I’m only the narrator here. 

 

“Yes, Princess?” Draco smirked, and the group of girls Hermione had been working with started to giggle. 

 

Usually, she would glare at him for being such a flirt and struggling to appear unaffected, but instead, she asked her fellow Head, “Could you take over for me? Something’s come up.” 

 

“What do I get in return?” 

 

The boys next to him stared at him in awe at his brazen question. He talked to a woman like he did that every day - that was bound to leave an impression on them.

 

“One slap less?” Without waiting for Draco’s comeback, she stomped away. Hermione had a marten to kill - a weasel, not a ferret. 

 

While her feet carried her back to the castle, Hermione pondered her next move and chastised herself. Really, she should’ve expected something like this around April first. After all, it was a familiar pattern…

 

It had started in their first year. Ron had switched her quill with a self-emptying one in  _ Potions _ of all subjects. It had reduced her to tears, and Ron had laughed himself silly. She had taken revenge with a whoopee cushion - sewn into his pants.

 

Third year, she had Ginny imitate Molly’s voice in a howler sticking to a package of boxers, loudly announcing that he had forgotten to take his underwear with him after Easter, and one piece wouldn’t be enough for the year, especially not with his bed-wetting problem, right? Ron, in turn, had apparently taken a page from Malfoy’s book and costumed himself as a Dementor in the library, surprising her that evening. Hermione had screeched like a harpy and thrown an ancient book at him. She still mourned its damage.

 

In fourth year, she had written a fake note, inviting the redhead to a mysterious date with a Beauxbatons girl. He’d stepped into the music room then - and Professor Sprout wasn’t very amused to be interrupted in her drum session. Ron’s revenge had been to paint Crooks a shocking shade of pink. The poor boy had a hard time regaining his confidence among the pussycats. 

 

Long story told short, Hermione and Ron had played each other harmless pranks each year. Well, as harmless as it could be with Ron’s brothers being extraordinary pranksters, the owners of a joke shop, _ and _ powerful magic at the teens’ disposal. 

 

A strange sense of relief mixed with Hermione’s anger. Ron’s prank meant that normalty slowly returned into their relationship and life, with it being the first April after the war and their break-up. They had tried, really, but the label that came to her mind when thinking about the time she and Ron had been together was ‘awkward’. And the war - it had certainly affected every witch and wizard in different degrees. Some were still mourning, others cherished their opportunity to evaluate their standing - like Draco had done. 

 

To come back to the matter of things: the mutual pranking between Hermione and Ron had been on hold during the previous year due to obvious reasons, and since it never was a conversational topic between them the rest of the year, it wasn’t clear whether it would continue. Especially not since Deputy Headmaster Severus Snape threatened everyone who played a prank around April 1999 with severe(us) detention - shrubbing cauldrons without magic until summer...of the year 2009, naturally.

 

Her lips curled into a mischievous smirk - one of the likes you saw a lot if you spent a lot of time with Draco Malfoy, and one she came to admire, because it was usually followed by something interesting - if that was a good or bad thing often depended on the point of view. But Ron, that much was sure, wouldn’t know what hit him.

 

* * *

 

“So, it has started again.” Ginny slipped into the bench at breakfast next morning without further introduction. None was necessary anyway.

 

Hermione grinned, buttering her toast. “Why yes, your brother started it. You heard about the exploding wand yesterday?” 

 

The other witch nodded. “I presume Fred and George have talked him into trying out the new trick wands.”

 

“That was embarrassing, but also quite spectacular. Though, what I’ve planned isn’t going to be subtle, either.”  

 

“What have you done?” Ginny asked, the giggle already evident. In the meantime, Harry had arrived and sat down next to his girlfriend, pressing a kiss on her cheek as a greeting. Hermione rolled her eyes inwardly - as if she didn’t know that her best friend spent most of the nights in Ginny’s dorm - hopefully behind the appropriate wards assuring their privacy.

 

“Nothing drastic,” she explained. “But let’s say it like that: his _wand,”_ she put emphasis on the last word, “erupts sparks every time he uses it.” 

 

“Well, that’s better than slugs, right?”asked Harry, oblivious as he so often was. 

 

“Not  _ that  _ wand, love,” Ginny corrected him coyly. 

 

“ _ Oh _ .” Harry crossed his legs subconsciously. 

 

Hermione shrugged. “Don’t fuss. It should only last for a day or so. Ronald should be able to keep his prick out of witches for the time, shouldn’t he?” 

 

“Uhmm-” doubted Harry, but then changed his mind and gestured to something behind her. “Never mind. Speaking of pricks-” 

 

A hand landed on her shoulder. Hermione didn’t need to turn to know who stood behind her. The clean, masculine scent, the smooth drawl of his voice, and, of course, the Malfoy signet ring were dead giveaways that it was Draco. “Could you spare me a minute of your precious time, dearest?” 

 

While the seventh year girls a bit down the table melted at the intimate gesture and address (undoubtedly wishing themselves in her place), Hermione braced herself on the table to get up - and somehow caused her teacup to topple over. Naturally, the warm liquid spread out on her white blouse.

 

“So eager to fulfill my every wish?” Draco commented, clearly amused.

 

“Haha. Very funny.” 

 

“Why, thank you. And also for providing me with a very enlightening sight so early in the morning.” An appreciating glint showed in his eyes. The only other time she had seen him looking at her like that was when he had stumbled into their shared bathroom accidentally and she had only been covered with a towel. Wait-

 

Hermione followed Draco’s gaze - and cursed under her breath. The tea had caused her white blouse to become quite transparent. Not that she was generally opposed to have an attractive male staring at her breasts like this, but the Great Hall was probably not the best place for it. 

 

Snapping her fingers in front of his face to regain his attention, she said, “Earth to Malfoy! What was it you wanted to tell me?”

 

Remembering his manners, the blond answered, “Oh yes, we have to postpone our prefect meeting tonight. Quidditch training was moved to today because it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. Is it alright if I send an owl and inform the prefects after breakfast?”

 

“Of course. Looks like I have to go back and change.” Tea stains were resistant to magic, and she didn’t want to spend Arithmancy with a wet and dirty blouse and the wet and dirty thoughts of her classmates.

 

She was almost sure she could see disappointment on the Head Boy’s face when she left, but then she was distracted by Ron. His arms stretched to the sides, his face an unbecoming red, he explained something to Pansy Parkinson. The witch had written condescension all over her face. 

 

“Pans, I swear, it’s the first time something like this has happened to me!” Ron pleaded. Pansy raised one of her eyebrows in the subtle Slytherin way to say,  _ ‘I don’t believe you one word, asshat.’ _

 

Interesting. Ron had tried to bed Pansy. Hermione wasn’t heartless, and house unity was a strong motto of hers, so she approached the two of them, slung her arms around Pansy’s shoulders, and stated, “You must be special to him, Pans. Maybe you made him nervous? He usually has good control over his  _ wand _ . You should give him another chance in a few days.” After winking at the fuming Ron, she left the Great Hall. 

 

* * *

 

 

**_Draco’s POV_ **

 

At nine o’clock in the evening, Draco finally entered the Head dorm. He was in desperate need of a shower, feeling the sweat still running down his back and the Quidditch gear clinging to his skin.

 

“Draco!” he heard, coming from the Head Girl’s bedroom. 

 

“What?” he called back, not in mood for a chat. Usually, he really liked the intellectual discussion they had over various topics, but he wanted to smell like himself then and not like something her half-kneazle had dragged in. 

 

“I could really use your help. I have a bit of a situation here!” she yelled, and something in her voice made him walk in the direction of her bedroom.

 

Pushing the door open, he said, “This better not be a silly discussion about the use of Valerian root in Calming potions, because-” he stopped dead in his tracks and words because of the scene in front of him. 

 

Either a Bludger had hit him and he was in the hospital wing hallucinating - or Hermione Granger, the witch he had a not-so-minor crush on, was tied to her bed, only in her blouse and socks and - he tilted his head slightly and confirmed it - purple knickers.

 

“Uhmm-” he intelligently asked for an explanation. 

 

“Ronald will have Hell to pay for this. He tied me to the bed!” 

 

So, she didn’t present herself to him.  _ Damn.  _

 

“He did that? I thought you and the Weasley were done with each other this year.” Carefully, he used his hands to untie the damsel in distress from her compromising situation, desperately avoiding the alluring way her bosom arched towards him in this position. 

 

“It seems we have a serious relapse here. He charmed my blouse somehow.” 

 

_ Relapse _ . He was more than a bit disappointed. He had seriously thought there was something developing between him and the witch. “If you don’t like being tied up, then why did you agree to it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice devoid of emotions.

 

“It’s not something you agree to, Draco. It slowly escalated over the years. But this year, I have no choice but to succumb to the Weasley men’s genius, it seems.” Hermione sat up and massaged her wrists, frowning. 

 

“There’s more of them involved than one Weasley?” He kept his eyes firmly on her face, ignoring the soft flesh of her legs. 

 

“I suppose, yes. Fred and George, it seems, have invented this kind of naughtiness.” 

 

Draco almost choked. “What about Potter? Is he in on this, too?” 

 

“No,” answered Hermione, her gaze questioning his tightly clenched jaw. “Ginny talked him out of it, saying he had to be responsible for once, no matter how much he wants a go at me.” 

 

Salazar’s socks, the House of Gryffindor was just an euphemism for sin, wasn’t it? And there he believed Hermione Granger was the epitome of a good girl. This changed his entire perception of her for sure. He had grown to adore the bushy haired witch who was never short of a witty reply - or an elaborated academical lecture. 

 

But in the darkness of his room - or whenever he had nothing else to do, really - Draco had envisioned that he could turn the good girl naughty. Mess her curls even more. Show her the pleasures of carnality. Turn her brain to mush and make her beg for him to take her. That kind of stuff.

 

Now it seemed someone else had done the job. Extensively. And, seeing the sneer on Hermione’s face, he was certain she wasn’t entirely happy about it this time. 

 

_ Witches are more complicated than wizards _ , his father had told him.  _ Just because they are a nymph in the bedroom doesn’t mean they’re easy. Just because they’re strong doesn’t mean they don’t need your help from time to time.  _

 

Looking back to his childhood, the one good thing Draco’s father had accomplished to be a role model was a strong and loving marriage. So he decided to jump the Hogwarts Express and follow Lucius’ advice.

 

“Hermione, I don’t like how the Weasel treats you. You know...should you need my help, if only to keep him still while you hex him, you just need to say a word.”

 

The witch’s expression changed into an honest smile. Merlin, her smile could warm the coldest dungeon. Then, she approached him, casually slipping into some jogging pants on the way, preparing for her daily run. However, before she also shucked off her blouse, she said, “Thank you, Draco. I mean it. I don’t think it’s necessary, but...my safeword is McLaggan, okay?” 

 

Hermione’s last words confused him a tad, but then her hands wandered to the top button, and Draco practically fled the room. His shower would be ice cold today.

* * *

 

**_Hermione’s POV_ **

 

The good thing about Ron was his reliability. Especially the reliability of him sleeping through a war. Literally. And he wasn’t alone in that. With the exception of Harry, who spent his nights with Ginny, and Neville, who was up at 5am to go hunting whatevers (insert creature Luna made probably up), the boys in the dorm snored peacefully when Hermione walked into the room. She didn’t even tiptoe or silence her steps.

 

The bathroom smelled so vastly different from the one she shared with Malfoy. Seriously, that man’s scent messed with her mind. Almost as much as his laughter and his unfairly pretty eyes. 

 

While she searched for Ron’s shampoo and shower gel bottle, Hermione thought back to yesterday evening. Had she only imagined the way Draco had admired her when she lay tied to her own bed? Or the hard undertone when he asked who else was involved in the pranks? Not that she was opposed to the connotation of him being interested in her life. Quite the opposite, really. 

 

Ah, there was Ron’s stuff. Reaching into her pocket, she produced a vial with a translucent, scentless liquid. Hermione was quite proud of her concoction. It had taken her all day to research, but in the end, she had managed to create a variation of the spell the witches of the Middle Ages had used to protect themselves from the fire they were supposed to burn in. And then, she had tweaked it a bit and transformed it into a potion. 

 

Hermione couldn’t wait to see Ron literally hot-headed.

 

* * *

 

**_Draco’s POV_ **

 

The moment of enlightenment came in their first lesson that morning on April first: Advanced Potions. 

 

Naturally, neither Potter nor Weasley had qualified for that class, so Draco was surprised when, without knocking, the dungeon’s door opened and the latter entered the room. 

 

What was even more surprising was the fact that he was on fire. It seemed to be a special kind of magical fire, for the man didn’t scream in pain and walked quite normally - minus the agitated expression on his face. He accelerated his steps when he glanced in their direction. Or more precise: in Hermione’s direction.

 

Since her back was turned towards the wizard with the fiery persona, Draco sensed danger, and, for once, did something reckless and unforeseen: with a precise movement, like maneuvering his broom around a bludger on the Quidditch pitch, one hand settled on Hermione’s waist while the other grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him. 

 

She squealed, surprised, but didn’t resist. His body tricked him by using the proximity of the woman he admired to steal a sniff into her curls. Deciding he’d stay with his arms full of witch for the next three weeks or so, he was a bit perturbed when said witch blinked up to him confused. 

 

“Uhm, Draco?” 

 

“Mh?”

 

“This is really nice. But what are you doing?” She didn’t struggle against his grip, but instead braced her palms on the hard plains of his chest. 

 

Draco felt like one of the wizards with shining robes in his childhood stories, saving the princess-witch from the angry mob of muggles or some monster. Therefore, “Protecting you from the human torch that is coming at you?” was his logical answer.

 

_ “What? _ ” Hermione half turned in his arms and finally saw the danger coming at her. He expected at least a widening of her eyes, a sharp intake of breath, a slight pink on her cheeks, not-

 

“Miss Granger, Mister Weasley is on fire, and you are  _ giggling _ ?” If this was a fairy tale, Severus Snape would be…the grumpy goblin that served as comic relief. Or the irritating portrait in the high castle. In reality, the Deputy Headmaster frowned at the indeed giggling sound the Head Girl made. “You don’t happen to know what one is supposed to do now, do you?” 

 

Hermione stepped from his embrace but stayed close to him. Meanwhile, the Weasley on fire puffed some smoke, probably trying to speak. The brunette remained aloof and suggested, “Fight fire with fire and conjure a dragon? Or maybe ask Mister Finnegan for help; he’s quite accomplished when it comes to being on fire.” 

 

Snape seemed one and a half second away from a stroke, his right eyelid twitching. “I presume you are responsible for this April Fool’s prank then?”

 

Even before she shrugged, the truth hit Draco like a proverbial bludger to the head. The ‘relapse’ - Hermione had indeed been bound to the bed by her blouse. But it hadn’t been a sexual situation between her and the Weasel; it had been a prank!

 

As much as he wanted to believe he had saved the damsel in distress, Draco knew when he was wrong. Only, he didn’t necessarily feel the need to admit it publicly. Catching the mischievous spark in Hermione’s eyes, he decided to play along.

 

“Well, I’d consider it the first time Weasley had a hand-on approach to History lessons, don’t you agree, Severus?” asked Draco, wondering for a split second if he stepped a line by addressing his godfather by his first name while at school. The twitch in his left eyelid told him he surely had. But then Hermione threw her head around so fast it could have caused a whiplash. Her huge, brown eyes scrutinized him, and he forgot to breath for a moment, lost in them. 

 

“You know what kind of spell I used?” she asked, a bit surprised and a bit curious.

 

“Princess, _ please _ .  _ Everyone _ who payed attention in History of Magic should recognise the variation of the Cold Fire spell.” Come to think of it, maybe that limited the amount of people in their year to him and her.

 

They looked at each other in a magical moment that wasn’t hindered by the fiery Weasel throwing a fit in the background and being held back by Snape (appalled because he had to touch someone) and Seamus (not afraid of fire and used to handle ‘accidents’).

 

“That was-” Draco started, but Hermione interrupted.

 

“-Too much? Not worth the repercussions? Probably, but-” 

 

“-No, it was the most devious thing I’ve seen.” He spoke with utmost conviction. “And my Slytherin side wants to have its wicked way with you right now. The other two percent of me, too.” He said slowly, like he wasn’t entirely aware of his brain’s train of thoughts. 

 

She waited until he had caught up with himself and answered, grinning, “I’m not opposed to that at all.” Draco’s heart plummeted to his stomach and pushed his blood even further down south. “But it would ruin my reputation even more, don’t you think?” 

 

Only then it occurred to him that they were still standing in the Potions classroom. And that the company of their pals wasn’t exactly appropriated for what he had in mind with the lady in front of him. Yet-

 

“How about we start like this, instead?” His hand resuming their position from a minute ago, he pulled her into a kiss. Two seconds into it and Draco was very much tempted to throw all caution and manners into the wind and take her right there. Because the way her lips pressed on his, the soft sounds she made when he let one hand wander to cup the back of her neck - it was exquisite. This kiss set their nerves on fire and sent their libidos into a much needed high. Only with the utmost concentration did he broke away from her, her smile making him pray the lesson would be over soon.

 

Most students thought the gossip about Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy snogging in the Potions classroom (and subsequently earning a week detention from Snape just for that) was the best April Fool’s prank ever. 

 

Only that it wasn’t. 

 

_ P.S.: Ronald Bilius Weasley extinguished his fire on his own after getting the advice from Seamus Finnigan to jump into the Black Lake stark naked. _

 

_ No actual Rons or weasels were harmed during the writing of this fanfic.  _


End file.
